


Small Miracles

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:32:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10798944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Not sure what this is. I started out with the realisation that I’d never written a one-bed fic but this thing ended up as something entirely different. Set during the cancer arc, a bit funny, a bit angsty, just a bit odd.





	Small Miracles

It wasn’t the fact that it was freezing or the fact that the nearest decent town was fifty miles away or even the fact that the wallpaper in the reception area was the same colour as the dried blood under Mulder’s fingernails. None of those things, either individually or as a collective of annoyances, got under Scully’s skin more than the fact that Mulder knew damned well this whole couple of days had been a charade.

“Didn’t you good folk see all the posters around town?”

Scully twisted the sole of her shoe on top of the cockroach that skittered out from behind the desk.

“I didn’t even see the town,” she muttered to the roach.

“Scully?”

“Just give me my key, Mulder.”

“Head on over the parking lot there and number four is just to the right. Next to number three.” The clerk gave Mulder a key so large it looked like a novelty one from a joke shop.

“And I’m guessing that number three is just next door to number two?” Scully held out her hand, preparing to take the weight of her own key.

The clerk’s eyebrows sunk low. “No, ma’am. Number two is behind the reception, here. Next to number one.”

She caught Mulder smirking into his hand, fist under his nose, key ring looped over a blood-streaked finger.

“Scully,” he said, straightening up. “I’m afraid there’s only one room left.”

The words fell out of his mouth with more than a shade of that same smirk tinting them.

Number four was missing a working heater, two-thirds of the thread in the carpet, a wardrobe door and the expert work and tools of a good cleaner. Water dripped into the rust-stained sink, a fly clung to the tar-stained net curtain that barely covered the window. Scully pulled the drape across to blot out the the neon glare of the motel sign. The curtain rings uncoupled from the runner as she pulled on the wand and entire thing down crashed to the floor.

Mulder laughed.

Scully dug her nails into the palms of her hand. Angry felt good. In fact, angry was pretty much all she’d felt since the car hit the outskirts of Ira Springs.

He had taken up residence on the bed, arms under his head, tie flung off and collar opened, television already breathing life into him like a ventilator.

“Why are we here, Mulder?” She opened the fridge and sniffed. There had been something dead in there recently.

“Enjoying the Ira Springs MayFest with the good folk of the town, Scully.”

She pushed the door and it wheezed shut like dying fly. “Now tell me why we’re really here, Mulder. We’ve driven across the country to investigate what is likely a weather or environmental or atmospheric phenomenon, you’ve managed to get yourself into a fist-fight with the local hoodlum and you haven’t even washed his blood off your hands yet, and now we’re in this…” her hands flung out from her sides, “I don’t even know what this is, but we’re here and there’s only one bed and you’re…God, Mulder. Why are you smiling like that?”

He patted the bed. “Chill, Scully. Didn’t you read the literature I gave you? The Ira Springs MayFest…’

‘Runs for the month of May and offers therapeutic healing, yoga and meditation classes, hot stone and Reiki massage, auric readings…’

‘But aside from those, the festival has a renowned reputation for calming the souls of even the most uptight of folk. The story of Ira Iremos, the town’s founder, told how before he came here he was filled with uncontrollable rage, but no sooner than he settled in what is now the area the motel is built arond, his anger seeped away and he lived the rest of his days mellow and relaxed. He claimed there was a lighter atmosphere, a calming aroma in the air, spiritual fingers that massaged his soul. The now kinder and more generous Ira wanted other good folk,” he used air quotes, “to take the waters too.”

She stalked into the bathroom.

She filled the sink as Mulder rattled on behind the door. If she didn’t know any better she’d say he was drunk or high. Always generous with his words, this was another level of liberal. She lifted the grey water to her face, splashing it as though it might obliterate not just the continuous hum of Mulder’s voice but the entire day. She looked up at her face in the mirror and sighed. She would go a Reiki massage right now.

She ran a bath, hoping that Mulder would run out of oxygen before the tub filled. And on the off chance that he had developed the lung capacity of a cave-diver, she consoled herself that if she slipped away in the murky depths of the Ira Springs Motel’s dubious water supply, at least she could go out with the knowledge that Mulder might momentarily enjoy seeing her completely naked, for the first time, before the utter desolation of her death would propel him back to the impulsive, reckless shell of a man he was always just a whisker away from inhabiting.

She giggled out loud. Where the hell had that come from? The motel shampoo smelled like toilet cleaner. Probably was. But infused with magical properties. She giggled again and rubbed it into her hair.

Mulder had moved to the chair and was asleep, shoes kicked off, legs splayed open, one hand tucked under his cheek, the other resting on his lap. His mouth drooped open. She studied him for perhaps a moment too long – just like he looked at her ass when she bent to retrieve a file he’d requested, or down her top as she sat and he stood over her, lecturing her. She had a sudden yearning for a slide projector and a full five minutes of watching his jawline. She pulled the robe tighter around her and sat on the bed. It was soft and lumpy but a warm fatigue was making her drowsy. Or something.

The television played on, casting an otherworldly glow in the room. It picked up the blood on Mulder’s knuckles and she dampened a flannel to wipe his hand. He stirred, snuffled out a soft sigh, and shifted to face the other way. His neck was going to ache tomorrow. She slid under the blanket and enjoyed the sensation of peace and calm that slithered down her body. How had a bath in this joint after the couple of days they’d had, managed to leave her feeling so relaxed. It made no sense. But then again, she was in a motel room with Mulder in the middle of nowhere investigating yet another trumped-up case. And she had cancer.

Her life made no sense.

It was freezing again. Why was it so cold now? She snuggled further under the bedding but the odour of mothballs was too much and she inched her way higher. A frigid breeze hit her face and she opened her eyes. Mulder was trying to shut the door, arms full of booty.

“Mulder? What the hell?” She pulled the blanket up around her chin.

“I got hungry, Scully.”

“So you got scooby snacks from the diabetes and heart disease machine?”

“Funny, Scully. Want to die with me?”

His face fell as the words hung in the cold air.

And so did the bags of chips and candy. All over the floor. He scrabbled around apologising and gathering the feast in his arms.

She pushed herself up against the bed head, guilt thrumming through her. “It’s okay, Mulder. Sit here with me. I could go some M&Ms.”

He handed her the packet and she pulled it open, raising her eyes to his. His puppy-dog expression melted her heart and she couldn’t decide if she wanted to pull him into her arms or to sink into his. She shifted on the cooling sheets.

“Are you going to tell me why we’re really here, Mulder? What’s the deal with the Ira Springs MayFest? There’s something about this place. I know that.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “You can feel something here?”

The chocolate candy shell cracked between her teeth and the sweet filling oozed out. “It’s like the most maddening of feeling stirs you up and then you just mellow out. What’s your theory? Is there a giant marijuana crop growing in the hills?”

How could he look so hot stuffing chips in his mouth?

“I don’t have a theory, Scully. But I really wanted to hit that man earlier. Smash his nose over his face. What he said about you…”

“What, Mulder? What did he say about me?” She lay a hand over his forearm. The cold had left a trail of goosebumps under the fine hairs. “Come under here, you’re freezing.”

“It wasn’t exactly what he said, it was the way he said it.” His long legs slid next to hers, lean and hard, through thin material of his pyjama bottoms. “Jeez, Scully. Your feet are like blocks of ice.”

“How did he say what he said?” She pushed her feet under his legs.

He flinched. “He said you were beautiful.”

She looked at him. “And you hit him for that?”

He had the decency to look guilty as he shrugged. “Sounds stupid now. I can’t really explain it, but he sort of leered when he talked and he raked his eyes over you and he stuck his pelvis out and…”

She ate another M&M. “He deserved it. How’s your hand?”

His knuckles were lilacy-purple in the odd luminescence of the room. She kissed them.

She kissed them?

His mouth popped open. His breath smelled salty. He took a while to speak, just stared at their hands, joined still.

“Do you get much pain, Scully?” The hitch in his voice took her breath away.

“I get headaches, deep behind my eyes. They make me nauseous.” She rubbed her thumb over his fingers.

“Have you had any pain since you’ve been here?”

She shook her head. “Well, at first I felt so angry – with you, mainly – but then last night I felt this amazing calm descend over me. No pain. No nausea. But that doesn’t prove anything. We’ve only been here a day.”

“People come here, during May, to get well. It’s been happening for years. Documented cases of the incurable being cured, of the terminally-ill living.” This time he kissed her hand.

“Mulder, this town is different, but I promise you, it’s not going to stop my cancer from spreading.”

“But you’re feeling better. You said so yourself.”

She nuzzled into his neck. “Maybe it’s just the company I’m keeping.”

“You know I can’t give up, Scully. I can’t stop looking.”

“I know. And I’m grateful for your persistence. But Mulder, whatever it is in this town, and I suspect it’s something not quite legal, is no doubt just an extravagant placebo. And someone is getting rich off the hopeful and the desperate.” She looked at his profile and added, “there are no miracles in Ira Springs. In May or any other month.”

His exhalation was long and mournful. She turned towards him and he pulled her closer. “Can we stay a while longer anyway?”

She chuffed out a laugh. “So you can make more friends?”

“No, so we can test how long we can sleep in one bed before we’re forced to cross the line from platonic to romantic partners.”

“Did you really just say that, Mulder?”

He laughed into her hair. “It’s this place. My inhibitions are all over the place.”

“I can feel them,” she said, smiling into his chest.

He moved away. She clasped his lower back and pulled him closer. “I like your inhibitions.”

“Scully…”

“Mulder?”

“If I said you were beautiful and I stuck my pelvis out at the same time, would you hit me?”

“Only if you leered at me too.”

“You’re beautiful. My eyes are closed.”

She chuckled. “There is a swathe of scientific evidence that suggests the hormones released after sexual intercourse are as effective at treating some medical conditions as conventional pharmaceutical therapies.”

“So are you telling me that we didn’t need to drive all the way to this hinky town to discover that fucking is better than drugs?”

“You could have just asked me.”

He kissed down her face and neck. “Perhaps I could just show you. If you’re sure about this. I don’t want to…hurt you. In any way, Scully.”

Her fingers grazed the elastic around his waist. “If there’s one thing this disease has taught me, Mulder, it’s that being the sensible one doesn’t always pay. Rationally, I should say no. But I feel more certain about this than about anything in the past few months. And sometimes life offers small miracles.” She kissed his mouth, enjoying the salty residue on his lips.

“Thank you, Scully. For me, this is a big, hulking, king-sized miracle.”

After, in the eerie glow of dawn, they both silently thanked Ira Iremos for the small miracles of life.


End file.
